


A Good Soldier

by Kiwifruitjuice



Category: Avengers
Genre: #Steve is captured by Hydra, #Steve is raped, #Torture, #rape/non-con, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwifruitjuice/pseuds/Kiwifruitjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldiers have a duty; to protect other people, even if it means not protecting themself properly. Steve was always one to take that too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Soldier

Steve prided himself on being a good soldier. He was the national American symbol; he was an inspiration to many people, even Tony, who would never admit it. 

_Crack_.

And soldiers, well soldiers had a duty. Protect, serve, and sacrifice. That's what Steve knew. He was the prime example of goodness, of getting harm to himself to protect the citizens, and his team mates. It was what he was known for. 

Steve wanted to be that when he was little. And then he become it, and he was Captain America; the man who would always sacrifice himself for good. 

_Crack_.

Captain America was selfless. Everyone looked up to him, and if they didn't, they usually respected him anyway. The odd person didn't appreciate his presence in modern age, but Steve would always help them too. 

That's what Steve did. And he was proud of it. 

_Crack_. 

So Steve stayed a good soldier. He ignored the sound of air, gathering against the leather to slap against his back, his stomach, his bare legs. He ignored the blood that trickled down his sore body, and he ignored the ache that was pounding in his torn skin. 

Steve tried not to make a sound when he was hit with the whip, but it often escaped him. A gasp, a whimper, a scream. His throat had gone a long time ago, so the sounds were little scruffs of noise. 

"Rogers." 

The man, who had been here for quite a few hours, spoke again. Steve didn't answer. He wouldn't speak, wouldn't let these men, Hydra, get information from him. 

He was a symbol, and symbols didn't tell. 

Steve closed his eyes slowly, darkness swarming behind his eyelids. His chest heaved, his mouth desperate for air to swallow. His wrists throbbed, the cuffs digging into his skin until little droplets of red seeped out from under them. 

_Crack_. 

Steve's body jumped, the sharp pain stabbing his right thigh. The cool chill in the room was cold against him, against his naked body, and Steve wished he had warmth again. 

Steve was a good soldier. He knew what he was doing was right. He had been captured, so the team would be safe. They were probably looking for him, but Steve hoped they wouldn't find him. If they had Steve here, they wouldn't need them. 

Steve made a silent pray that they would stay safe. 

_Crack_. 

Steve heard the sound of the whip hitting the ground. The hand, the calloused, rough hand, was traveling up his stomach. Steve winced at the tug of his bare nipples, but didn't make a noise. He wasn't sure he could. 

The hand, attached to the man in front of him, slid a finger past Steve's dry lips. Steve's tongue wasn't wet anymore, but the man tried to gather spit anyway. 

The finger travled to his backside, and Steve ignored the tug, the feeling of the finger sinking into him. The knuckle rubbed against Steve's cheek, and Steve wanted to go to sleep. 

Three fingers replaced one. Steve grunted, the noise weird in the little concrete room. Steve's legs were grabbed and spread, and then he was stretched open, and violated for the third time that day. 

What day was it? 

The chains rattled, and Steve's mouth was covered with the man's hand. His cries were muffled, and the tears were silent as they slid down his hurting cheeks. 

The man groaned in pleasure and his hips jerked back and forth, his other hand bruising Steve's hip as he thrusted. Steve hung his head, keeping his eyes closed tightly. 

He was a good soldier. He was protecting those he loved. He was hurting, _everything hurt_ , but he was being a good soldier. 

His mind spiraled. His thoughts were jumbled and his body was aching. His body jumped against the man in rhythm. His feet brushed the ground every time he was lurched forward. The feeling was cold against his toes. 

Steve ignored the wet liquid that was trailing down the back of his thighs. He ached there, and he wanted it to stop, but he was being a good soldier. 

Everyone was safe, and that's what Steve was supposed to make sure of when he agreed to be the Captain. And he was doing it, so everything was okay. 

He hurt, and the man pumped harder, close, and more liquid dripped out, but Steve was keeping people safe. 

The man made a loud grunt against Steve's neck and held him close as he finished. He snapped his hips a few times, and Steve cried harder, and then the man slid out of him. 

As the man walked back to the whip, and bent over in front of him, Steve saw the red that had stained the man below. 

Steve stared blankly as the man grinned at him. 

_Crack_. 

Days passed. Weeks, proabably. Maybe even a few months, but Steve had lost track of time awhile ago. His mind was hurt, and he stopped crying. He just waited for it to be over, the jerk in the man's hips as he raped Steve over and over. 

His skin was ruined. His stomach was empty. His throat was dry. He was dying, he knew that, and he was scared. 

But he was a good soldier, so he would try and stay alive for as long as he could. If he had too, he'd make a deal with God to come back even better. 

More men came. They all had their way, moaning and groaning and grunting. Steve felt dirty, and used, and like sin. God would be proud, though, proud he was being so selfless. Steve hoped he would make it to heaven. 

Steve let the days pass, the hours tick by, the minutes slowly crawl, the seconds  drag themselves. The men came, they went, they came back. His skin was torn and bleeding, and Steve wasn't sure how terrible he'd look when he arrived at the gates. 

Steve was blank to the world. He didn't hear the grunts, and snap of the whip, or the loud crash as the northern wall was blown open. 

His body didn't really process it when Natasha unhooked his cuffs, and he fell limp to the floor. Voices, he heard, but they were all the same to him. 

Hands touched him again, and Steve groaned, waiting to be violated once more. It never came, but Steve didn't care either way. 

His head hurt. It pounded. His brain thumped in his cracked skull as he was whisked away to the tower, and doctors tried to fix him. 

Steve wanted to laugh. He didn't, but he wanted too. He waited. 

The moniter beeped louder. The doctors panicked and pushed needles and knifes into his body. Tears and rips were stitched, his body was bandaged, and his backside was gently washed and cleaned. 

Steve wanted to stop them. He had done his deed, they were safe, but he still wanted to live. He wanted to make sure Tony ate, and Bruce stayed calm, that Clint actually came to meetings instead of hiding in the vents, and Natasha didnt strangle anyone. 

He fought the urge to drift off. He heard the soft crying and the begs, the deals and the promises if he woke, and he fought harder. 

He was a good soldier. He was good and God would love him and all that he did. The team were safe, and hydra would be stopped again one day. 

Steve heard Tony's cry as the moniter stalled. He heard doctors rushing to help him, but he had done what needed to be done. 

Steve let go.

He was a good soldier. 

**Author's Note:**

> :))))) I hate myself


End file.
